


truth be told no sense was made

by soapboxblues



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5 Acts Meme, First Time, M/M, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapboxblues/pseuds/soapboxblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the men who make Jon doubt the world's logic, it is Theon who does it the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	truth be told no sense was made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozmissage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozmissage/gifts).



> Disclaimer: All characters represented are property of George RR Martin. No profit is made from their use.

His father once told him that everything had a reason and that nothing happened by chance. Ned Stark wasn't the most philosophical of men, but when he spoke his words always resonated. Jon would like to believe his father. He would like to believe that the world is meant to make sense.

He's done well with it so far, swallowing all the resentment and anger he feels when someone mutters "bastard" behind his back, burying the shame that comes with knowing he is the only blemish on Ned Stark's reputation, ignoring the stares - cold and dead from Catelyn, mocking from the rest.

He swallows and buries and ignores because it all has a purpose. It makes him stronger. He has a purpose even if his existence came at a price. This is as good a rationalization as any other.

But there are some things that blindside even the most rational of men.

\---

Of all the men who make Jon doubt the world's logic, it is Theon who does it the most.

In the daylight, Theon never passes up the chance to mock Jon. His words are sharper than any sword in the North. They cut deep and never miss their target. Theon knows not just what to say but how and when to say it. He picks his language based on his audience. He takes delight in making Jon miserable, watching for that flicker of hurt to register in his eyes. Theon never smiles quite as bright as he does when Jon's been put in his rightful place by his words. Every day from sun up to sun down, Theon makes it his mission to remind Jon just who he is.

And at night - well, night is where it all makes little sense.

\---

Jon hears the door crack open. A sliver of light from the hall illuminating what had been total darkness. Ghost does not stir. He has become used to the late night visits. Jon does not say a word, just in case. The house has been full since the king's arrival. One can never be too sure who's lurking about the castle at night.

The sound of the door clicking shut followed by the latch of the lock and the heavy sigh are all telltale signs even in Jon's groggy state. He knows what's coming but he does not prepare for it, stays curled on his side away from the figure approaching the bed. He listens for the creak of the bed as Theon sits, removes his boots and untucks his shirt.

Jon holds his breath and waits. He can feel the phantom of the touch before the hand even lands on his hip. Just like he feels the warm puff of air at the back of his neck. Jon pushes himself back into the embrace before the contact is even made.

Nothing's said.

Nothing's ever said.

\---

Jon does not know how it started. He remembers some of the details, but they do not add up to a start in his mind. It wasn't a particularly good day for Theon. He and Robb had been fighting. Jon had caught them in the middle of an argument. Robb had tried to pull him into it. He can't remember what it was about, but he had taken Theon's side. Robb hadn't been expecting and he had stormed off, cursing the both of them. Jon turned to follow him, but Theon grabbed his arm and pulled him back before he could go. He shook the touch off and scowled. Theon raised an eyebrow, appraising him.

"Why'd you take my side?"

Jon huffed, wishing more than anything that he hadn't. Jon didn't like having to explain himself, and Robb never questioned anyone's loyalty. He just expected it. Theon didn't trust anything. "Because I thought you were right."

"You could have lied." Theon stared at him as if waiting for an agreement but Jon would not give him that satisfaction. Jon could have lied, but he wouldn't have. Not to Robb. Not even to Theon even. Theon leaned back against one of the targets, arms crossed behind his back and looking tired as ever. "Robb will win the argument anyways. He always wins."

Jon laughed - a small abrupt sound the he felt guilty for as soon as it had escaped, but it was too late. Theon was grinning ear to ear. Jon covered it with a cough and a frown and watched as the grin flew from Theon's face, watched as the walls Theon had briefly let down started to pull themselves back up. The words fell from Jon's mouth before he even knew they were there. "But you and I will know the truth."

Theon was smiling again and before Jon could do anything else traitorous he fled.

That night he woke up to the sound of a floorboard's creak. He lunged for his sword, but the intruder was faster. He had him flat on his back, his wrists pinned above his head with one foul swoop. One calf on either side of his hips and the heavy but welcome pressure against his groin. Jon blinked as the hand not trapping his arms, slid down his chest and past his stomach.

"Theon..." Jon gasped, his head still fuzzy from sleep. It had to be a dream, he thought. A strange dream.

"Not a word," Theon muttered as his hand trailed past the waistband of his pants.

Jon did not like taking orders from Theon, but his mouth did not know how to form any words at that moment. Jon had heard the rumors that Theon fucked like he fought - with intensity so overwhelming that even the women who were paid to make love to him drowned in it. Jon was a virgin in well trained hands who was blindsided by want. He succumbed.

Theon was gone by morning and in the daylight, things had gone back to normal. Robb had forgiven both Theon and Jon. Theon still cut at Jon's dignity with a few well placed taunts. The only difference was at night Theon crawled into his bed.

\---

Theon responds immediately when Jon curls back into his arms. His hands pulling at clothes until he can get Jon naked beside him.

It has been awhile. The arrival of the king has meant a full house and Theon is nothing if not cautious when it comes to this thing between them. It doesn't affect Jon as much as it could. He is good at suppressing want, something his station has taught him. Theon is a different story. His fingers twitch whenever Jon gets too close. He drinks more, visits the brothels almost every night, fights with twice the vigor and taunts Jon at every opportunity to the point that it lacks its usual finesse, and Jon can laugh him off. Theon stares at his mouth when he laughs too - then leaves before it's too noticeable. Jon thinks this experience may be good for him. A week or so and Jon will be gone and Theon will have to make do.

Theon is making do now. Jon finds himself on his back before long. He tries to help as best as he can with getting undressed, but Theon seems to enjoy tearing at the garments more than actually removing them. Every time there's a rip, Jon's accompanying huff gets swallowed by Theon's mouth. Jon doesn't notice the tactic at first, but when he does he cannot help the tiny laugh that escapes him.

"Stop doing that," Theon mumbles against his mouth.

"Doing what?" Jon says, another sprout of laughter escaping. Theon pushes himself up, his forearms bearing his weight on either side of Jon's head.

"Laughing," Theon says, "You never laugh."

"Not much to laugh about," Jon says and he lets himself laugh again. The small chuckle makes Theon's eyes flutter shut. Theon shivers and pressed up against him, Jon can feel it from his torso down to his toes. Jon gasps, "You like it."

Theon's eyes narrow when they open. At first, Jon thinks he's angry, but there is something else there. Something just as dark but predatory as well. Theon's voice is more of a growl when he speaks. "It drives me insane."

Jon feels his stomach drop at the words. The laughter is gone, but in its place he feels the thrill of want. He rubs a hand over Theon's bicep. "You should probably do something to shut me up then."

\--

Jon did not understand it.

Why it was that Theon kept coming back to him. If he wanted sex, he could just frequent the brothel. It was what he had done before he sought out Jon and he had continued to do so after. If he wanted sex with a man, he could find one who was just as discreet and more versed in the practice. He could find a man who called him "sir" and did what pleased him - one who wasn't a bastard and who didn't roll his eyes at his posturing. Someone whom he didn't quarrel with whenever he wasn't pressed between his legs.

Jon did not understand why Theon chose him anymore than he could understand why he kept letting it happen.

\---

Usually, there is never enough time at night. Theon has memorized the schedules of every cook, maid, servant and guard in all of Winterfell and he plans his every minute. It's always rushed - there and gone in a flash so that Jon barely has time to catch his breath.

Tonight is different. Theon takes things achingly slow to the point that Jon has to dig his nails into Theon's back and beg for it. And that's another difference - any other time Theon would prefer him quiet, afraid of what the walls might hear, but tonight he murmurs taunts into Jon's ear, tells him he won't lift a finger to bring him off unless Jon moans for him. And Jon does because try as he might to deny it, he wants nothing more than Theon's hand and his mouth and his cock.

He says that and more and it's as though something snaps in Theon. His hips stutter forward until there's nothing but skin touching skin and a pressure so deep inside Jon that he could cry. Theon pulls back, throws one of Jon's legs over his shoulder and changes the angle so that Jon's seeing stars.

Neither of them last much longer after that. Theon collapses on top of him, shifts a bit so that most of his weight is off Jon, but his head is still tucked in the crook of Jon's neck. Jon would never admit it aloud, but he likes to savor these few moments where Theon lies beside him, places his hand over his heart and says nothing. Jon hopes there's meaning there, something just out of his grasp.

The thing about those moments is they usually never last. A few minutes pass and Jon waits for Theon to pull himself and start getting dressed, for him to smirk like he's holding back some sort of terrible comment and to duck out of Jon's room without a word. Jon waits, but it doesn't happen.

"So the Wall, huh?" Theon's voice shatters the silence, and Jon is startled. Theon shifts so that he's on his stomach, his head now balancing on his folded hands which lay on Jon's shoulder. Before Jon can say anything, Theon speaks again. "Robb was pouting about it this morning. He said if your father hadn't said something in passing to Ser Rodrick you would have just disappeared without warning."

Jon has kept his eyes fixed ahead this entire time, but now he can't help but glance at Theon. He feels a prickle of shame as soon as their eyes meet. He never felt as though he owed Theon an explanation. He figured if anyone would understand the need to get away from this place it would be Winterfell's hostage. He kept telling himself that it wouldn't matter to Theon if he left, but now seeing that curious look in his eye he thinks he might have been wrong.

"I meant to mention it." He tries to shrug it off, but his shoulder is pinned under Theon's weight. Theon lets up, rolling on his side. Jon misses the contact as soon as it's gone.

"A little more of a warning might have been nice. I had big plans for you." Jon raises his eyebrow in questions and knows he'll regret it. Theon's grin is blinding and the hand that isn't propping his head up lands on Jon's stomach, tracing idle patterns. "I was going to make you my salt wife."

Jon laughs, covers Theon's hand with his own, and slides it over his heart. "How very honorable of you."

Theon's eyes turn a darker shade of blue at the sound. He swoops down and steals a kiss. It's soft and chaste and nothing like anything the ones they've shared before. When they part, Theon ducks his head as he speaks. His voice is low and vulnerable. "I think I'll miss you."

At that moment, Jon realizes if he were a different man, this would be a victory. For years Theon has tormented him, made him feel weak and unwanted, and now Jon could throw all of that back in his face. But Jon cannot change who he is and that means he speaks the truth. It's what got them here in the first place.

"I'll miss you too," Jon admits. "Gods know why."

Theon looks back up, nervousness gone as quick as it came. In its place is something predatory and Jon feels his mouth go dry at the sight. Theon draws closer, bends his head so that he's whispering in Jon's ear. "I can remind you why if you'd like."


End file.
